


Comes Round the Age of Gold

by ReaperWriter



Series: Mansion House Nocturnes [7]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, First Kisses, Introspection, mistletrope, slow burn friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mistletoe is a game for young and single men.  Jed Foster considers himself neither.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comes Round the Age of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmadelosnardos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadelosnardos/gifts).



> Title from the Christmas Carol, "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear"
> 
> I opened things up on Tumblr to Prompts, and the amazing EmmadelosNardos asked for a Phoster first kiss. And I don't care that it's April 1st, that begs for a little mistletrope. So enjoy.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at theadventureofhistorygirl

It was perhaps no surprise to anyone who had spent any time around Mansion House that the idea for the current noise and hubbub came from a conspiracy between Miss Green and Chaplain Hopkins.  Jed wondered exactly when the two of them had gone from being civil colleagues to…well, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of their relationship now.  Complicated described so many of the relationships he found here at Mansion House.  Why should theirs be any different? 

But Advent was now upon them, and the good Chaplain and their special Confederate Nurse (who he was pleased to note had begun to cross lines and care for the men more indiscriminately) had taken it into their heads that what the men needed to promote both physical and mental healing was to be of good cheer as the holidays approached.  And, he had to admit privately to himself, it felt nice to be of good cheer and grateful in his own life as well. 

Chaplain Hopkins and Samuel had found a few local day hire contraband men to help them, and had ventured around town, asking permission to take cuttings of ivy and evergreen boughs to decorate the hospital.  The Chaplain really must speak with the voice of God, or perhaps it was the note he carried from Miss Green, but even those families still loyal to the South were willing to treat with them and help in the project.   

Miss Green’s own brother had sent a man to the woods and brought back a slightly scraggly pine, setting it up in the front entry hall where it was only marginally in the way.  And Miss Green had made it her project to get the men to help.  Any patient who could was stringing popcorn and cranberries onto twine, or tying bows with scraps of ribbon, lace, or fabric donated by the modistes of the city.  He was beginning to think Miss Green could beguile the devil out of hell.   
   
And Chaplain Hopkins was no better.  He had written to the Lutheran Synod, and both the congregation he’d grown up with and the one he’d served in, and asked their Christian charity toward those soldiers suffering in hospital this year.  And the result was a steady stream of care packages with new shirts and clean socks, warm mittens, homemade jams and jellies and candies, syllabub syrups and cookies and fruitcakes.  So many that there looked to be enough for every man of any stripe at Mansion House, with plenty left to send out around the city to the other hospitals. 

Perhaps the most surprising thing, however, was Nurse Phinney, or Mary as she had allowed him to call her.  So Northern and no nonsense, he’d been surprised by how she’d brightened at Miss Green’s suggestion.  More than once, he’d caught her humming carols under her breath as she bathed men, or changed their bandages.  She was working extra-long hours to make sure letters home were written for the men who wanted them, and she too had taken to helping with the decorations. 

Now, on Christmas Eve, he stood beside her as Miss Green played more carols on the upright piano that had appeared from who knew where.  And he had to admit, in the end the young Nurse and the only slightly less young Chaplain had been utterly correct.  The men on the wards looked…hopeful.  Even those who had lost limbs, or who would soon be well enough to return to the meat grinder that was the front.  Even the few that would be returning nowhere unless it was in a pine box.  

Jed considered himself only vaguely religious, but he supposed that even he could see the message of hope bound up in the figure of the Christ child in the little crèche Mary had magicked up from somewhere.  For unto you was born a child, one who would erase all mankind’s sins, who would bring eternal salvation.  It was a hard idea to hold on to in their day to day lives, with the death and the horror, the blood and the gangrene.  But tonight, in the light of the lamps and the candles, the warm cider and soft singing, hope felt like a real and tangible thing. 

“Gustav loved Christmas.”  Mary’s voice was quiet next to him, her eyes a little watery in the low light.  “He used to tell me these stories about the markets in Olnhausen.  And about the pastries, and the church pageants. About snow, and decorating the tree, and the midnight service on Christmas Eve.  No matter how little we had in our lives, he always found a way to make sure we had a nice Christmas.” 

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to step closer, and take her hand.  Perhaps it was the season of hope.  Perhaps it was the feeling like the walls between them were possibly well and truly down.  Perhaps it was a deeper understanding of who she was as a person, and who he longed to have her become in his life.  He had just taken her hand when one of the soldiers, a corporal from Indiana, laughed.  “Captain Foster, you and Nurse Mary are under the mistletoe!” 

The room grew quiet as they looked up into the door frame and sure enough, there was the little bundle of green leaves and white berries.  Mary’s eyes grew wide, and Jed steeled himself.  “That’s a young, single man’s game, Corporal Taylor.  I am neither.” 

“Come on, sir!” This call from a Sargent from Kentucky, a grizzled old veteran whose right hand Jed had been forced to amputate a week ago.  “Not so old as some of us greybeards.” 

“Oh, why not, Jed?” Mary’s voice surprised him, and he turned to find her smiling softly at him.  “After all, it is Christmas.” 

Before he could lose his nerve, he nodded and leaned forward, one hand coming up to gentle cup the back of her head through the silk of her netted curls.  Mary’s lips were soft and warm, tasting a little of the peppermint one of the men had forced into her hands earlier from his gift bundle, and they moved gentle and chaste against his. 

But no matter, for in that one brief and shining moment, Jed Foster was suddenly and irretrievably lost to her.  A body electric indeed as he felt every nerve in him tingle with delight.  It was only the sound of raucous cheering that brought him back to his senses, making him withdraw.  His eyes found Mary’s, and for a split second, they seemed to share a wordless communication of wonder and shock.  Then her features schooled themselves, and she turned.  “Now, all of you back to your singing.  You’ve rudely interrupted Nurse Green.” 

The playing resumed, Chaplain Hopkins close by Emma as he turned the pages for her.  Attention gone from them, he was startled to find Mary’s hand slipped softly back in to his.  “Merry Christmas, Jed.”  The words were soft, for his ears only, and he could not help his answering soft and fond smile.   

“Merry Christmas, Mary.”  The season of hope, indeed.


End file.
